Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 30

"One word, one whisper, and you're dead" Farley murmurs. "I'll think about those consequences later, Maven Calore."

Somewhere in between the seconds Farley slammed the door and said her words to me did I stand up. Even though my head feels impossibly heavy from doing so.

My partner is in my brother's apartment foyer, wearing clothing not so different from my own with his dark-colored jacket and pants and Yankees cap. And though Farley's pistol glitters as she shifts her grip, he stares through the gun, through her, and perhaps through the door itself. If my face is an expression of horror, then I don't know what Maven's is.

Because I see fear, rage, sickness, and shame in his ice-blue and empty eyes.

Kilorn, Cameron, Tristan, and Ada might be to my back, and the three young people with dyed hair might ignore me entirely, but Shade has no trouble crossing his arms and giving me a look that speaks a thousand words.

My tongue's leaden. With no chair arms, my fingers have nothing to grasp and instead dig into my palms. I force myself to look at my brother full-on and shake my head. Again and again.

It's the only way I can convey the impossibility of what's going on. My little lie yesterday morning wasn't on par for Maven, and suspecting I knew more than I let on, he followed me—subway, mindless wandering, and all—here. It was another long day of ballet, and I hardly had the motivation to look behind me on my trip from the Academy to Little Italy. But hell, I didn't even see him in the Academy's lobby on my way out.

He heard everything from the other side of that door.

What it means to him, I couldn't say

Maven opens his mouth. "Mare didn't—"

And closes it just as fast when Farley snarls. "You forget what I said already, boy?"

It's enough for me to move my boots across the room, fast but not fast enough for Farley to think it's a threat. Maven's the only thing keeping my hands from shaking as I raise them for Farley, and I'm smart enough to stop a few paces from her, Shade, and the entourage of dyed-hair Street Fighters.

The room holds its breath as Maven shuffles his feet so that he faces me completely. The lighting of the apartment does him good, adding some warmth and color to his face, but in another way, he's paler than ever. Farley's unflinching when it comes to holding that gun of hers, yet it's not bullets that Maven fears—the way he looked right through Diana Farley says that much. Maven doesn't balk at Shade either, who paces now, boots hitting the wood back and forth, back and forth beside the kitchen island.

"He saw me leaving the Academy, which is something I never do after class, and he followed me," I admit quietly, finding the words in my partner's dreary eyes.

There's nothing accusing in them, and Maven goes so far to smile a bitter, tight smile at me. I have nothing to return.

Shade pauses, tilting his head. Reading his silent reprimands comes as easy as it did a year ago, and I choose to look towards Farley instead. Hardly a better option, but an option nonetheless.

My heart pounds as I consider my next words carefully. Farley's eyes are colder than I've ever seen from anyone, and her lips have twisted into a grimace. Her forehead creases, undoubtedly weighing the many, many risks in her mind as she picks apart Maven breath by breath. Underneath it all, she's about to lose it.

I remember who the Scarlet Street Fighters are. At the end of the day, they might claim to stand for justice, but they have no problem leaving a trail of blood in their wake if it gets the deed done. Farley promised as much tonight, and I've seen that promise written again and again in the newspapers and said from the lips of East Harlem gossips. These people are fighting a war, and they think the only way to win is to fight fire with fire. They have no boundaries, no remorse over the things they're doing. After Farley's story, I can hardly blame them, but . . .